The Obsession

“A new look, she thought, a new place, a new start. She wouldn’t look back.”

This brief declaration encapsulates Naomi’s determination to reinvent herself, with the triple repetition of “new” creating rhythmic emphasis on transformation. The sentence structure moves from external changes (“look,” “place”) to the internal (“start”), suggesting that Naomi understands that reinvention requires both superficial and profound change. The final declaration reveals Naomi’s strategy for managing trauma through compartmentalization, embodying the novel’s central theme of Redefining Identity in the Shadow of Infamy as she actively constructs a version of herself that is separate from her father’s crimes.

“When the dark came back, and her mother needed to stay in bed with the curtains shut tight, Naomi would take her food on a tray. She’d know how deep the dark was if she saw those pictures lying facedown, as if her mother couldn’t bear the sight of her own happiness.”

This passage employs the light and shadow motif to illustrate the cyclical nature of Susan’s depression, with “dark” representing both literal darkness and psychological despair. The detail of photographs turned facedown creates a powerful visual symbol of self-rejection, reflecting Susan’s inability to reconcile happiness with trauma. Naomi’s role of bringing food demonstrates the parent-child role reversal while simultaneously revealing her development of acute observational skills to gauge her mother’s mental state. The image encapsulates how trauma reverberates through family systems, creating patterns that both damage and connect.

“You put something behind you, Nome, it’s got its eyes on your back. I’d rather keep it in front of me, so I can see where it’s going.”

Mason’s insight creates a powerful visual metaphor for different approaches to trauma, contrasting Naomi’s strategy of avoidance with his strategy of confrontation. The personification of trauma as something with “eyes” conveys how past experiences maintain agency and power even when ignored. This quote reveals Mason’s surprising maturity and foreshadows his future career studying behavioral psychology to understand people like his father. The contrasting strategies between siblings demonstrates how shared trauma can produce different but equally valid coping mechanisms.

“My life, my story, and I never agreed to your deal. Tell anyone you want.”

This terse response to Anson Chaffins’s attempt at exploitation represents Naomi’s reclamation of her narrative and identity. The three-part declaration emphasizes Naomi’s ownership of her experience. The final challenge (“Tell anyone you want”) demonstrates her newfound confidence and refusal to be controlled by fear of exposure. This exchange marks Naomi’s transition from victim to agent of her own destiny, a key development in her character arc that aligns with the novel’s exploration of The Invasion of Privacy and the Spectacle of Trauma.

“‘What kind of person puts pants on a dog?’ ‘The kind who isn’t going to keep fighting to keep the damn cone on him. He gets out of it. Kevin duct-taped the thing, and he still got out of it if I took my eyes off him for five damn minutes. And when he was in it, he ran into everything. Including me. I swear on purpose. He hated it.’ ‘Cone of Shame?’ ‘Yeah, the damn Cone of Shame. So now he’s wearing the Pants of Humiliation. But the stupid dog seems to like them.’”

This humorous exchange between Naomi and Xander reveals Naomi’s inventive problem-solving and growing attachment to Tag, despite her reluctance to keep him. The comedic dialogue about the “Pants of Humiliation” provides levity while illustrating how Naomi’s emotional armor is gradually softening through her care for another being. The dog functions as both a character and a symbol, representing Naomi’s reluctant journey toward accepting vulnerability and connection in her new life, with her adaptive solution to Tag’s problem mirroring her own need to find unconventional ways to heal from past trauma.

“‘It’s interesting—what she doesn’t say. It’s interesting.’ He thought about that, late into the night, long after rehearsal and the cold-cut subs he and his bandmates chowed down on. In general he liked the company of men more than the company of women. He understood what men didn’t say, didn’t need or want it all laid out in specific words, expressions, freaking tones of voice. Women, to his mind, were work. Often worth it, and he didn’t mind work.”

This passage reveals Xander’s growing fascination with Naomi through his interior monologue, highlighting how her mystery attracts rather than repels him. Roberts uses free indirect discourse to blend character voice with narration, allowing readers to experience Xander’s thought process directly. The contrast between his general attitude toward women and his specific interest in Naomi foreshadows his willingness to pursue her despite her guardedness, introducing the novel’s exploration of The Risk and Necessity of Vulnerability.

“She had to run, had to find the light again. Then the shadow stepped from the shadow, a knife in one hand, a rope in the other. Time’s up, it said in her father’s voice. She tried to scream, and woke with it trapped in her throat, with the weight crushing her chest. No air, no air, and she clutched at her own throat as if to fight away the hands that circled it.”

In this nightmare sequence, Roberts employs vivid sensory details and the light and shadow motif to externalize Naomi’s subconscious fears. The shadow figure wielding her father’s weapons and speaking in his voice represents how her trauma continues to threaten her sense of safety despite her physical distance from the man who caused it. The suffocation imagery physically reflects her emotional state, illustrating how past trauma continues to constrict her ability to feel secure even in sleep.

“Everything went blank and cold as her gaze latched onto a single spine in the wall of books. Blood in the Ground: The Legacy of Thomas David Bowes, by Simon Vance. […] ‘Naomi?’ Xander tossed the dishcloth aside and started for her. ‘What's wrong?’ ‘What?’ She turned, too sharply, and she’d gone pale so her eyes burned dark. ‘Nothing. Nothing. I…A little headache. I probably shouldn’t have had the wine after rapping my head.’”

This pivotal moment employs stark physical reactions to convey Naomi’s visceral fear when her carefully constructed walls are threatened. The juxtaposition between the warmth of the intimate dinner and her sudden coldness toward Xander creates dramatic tension while showing how quickly her past can intrude on her present. Roberts uses the physical book as a symbolic manifestation of Naomi’s inability to truly escape her history, demonstrating how the invasion of privacy and the spectacle of trauma continues to affect her even in seemingly safe moments. Naomi’s reaction also creates a sense of dramatic irony; at this point in the story, Xander is not aware of Naomi’s true identity, but her reaction to a single book on his shelf is what causes Xander to realize that truth.

“He took her face in his hands—not gentle there either—as if temper bubbled just under the surface. ‘You walked in, and the air changed. I wasn’t going to tell you that. It gives you an advantage, and you’re enough of a challenge.’ ‘I’m not trying to be a challenge.’ ‘It’s one of the things that makes you one. I want you. I want you under me and over me and around me. And you want. I’m a good reader, and I read that from you clear enough.’”

This charged confrontation uses physical intensity to mirror the emotional vulnerability between the two central characters. The repetition of “I want you” creates rhythmic tension that reinforces Xander’s directness about his desires, contrasting with Naomi’s habitual guardedness. Roberts appeals to the readers’ senses (“the air changed”) to illustrate the characters’ connection as something elemental rather than merely physical, suggesting that their attraction transcends simple desire into something potentially transformative for Naomi’s isolated existence.

“She didn’t resist when he pulled her onto his lap, but did hesitate when he started to take the camera. ‘I’m not going to bounce it off the floor. It’s got weight,’ he commented. ‘Just over nine pounds. I’m mostly going to use the tripod with it, and it’s worth the weight. It’s tough and reliable, and you can see just how sharp.’”

The camera physically represents Naomi’s professional identity and protective barriers, explaining her hesitation to surrender it. This interaction reveals the gradual development of trust between Naomi and Xander, with her allowing him limited access to something that defines her. The description of the camera as “tough and reliable” mirrors qualities that Naomi values and embodies, connecting to photography as a central motif in the novel.

“‘That’s the thing about words and images.’ She took a slow sip of wine. ‘Once the words are on the page, the image printed, it becomes what’s true.’ […] ‘They’re not so different, words and pictures. Both freeze moments, both stay with you long after the moment’s over.’”

Naomi articulates her fear of manipulated narratives, particularly regarding how her father’s crimes have been portrayed in books like the one on Xander’s shelf. The parallel drawn between words and images highlights the novel’s theme of the invasion of privacy and the spectacle of trauma, showing how public accounts can overwrite personal truth. Her philosophical observation reveals her hyperawareness of how permanently trauma can be inscribed in both collective memory and personal consciousness.

“I hurt her on Friday night, at the bar. I meant to. And she walked out of there with her wrist aching, her pride ripped up, and her temper leading her. Otherwise, she’d have left with her friend.”

After discovering Marla’s body, Naomi immediately seeks to establish a causal relationship between her actions and Marla’s fate, revealing her deep-seated guilt complex. The specific, physical details of Marla’s condition after their confrontation create a stark contrast with the brutality of her murder, highlighting the profound difference between ordinary conflict and true violence. This moment connects to Naomi’s ongoing struggle with redefining identity in the shadow of infamy, as she unconsciously continues to link herself to violence.

“‘You’re making real progress,’ he commented as they stepped inside. She only nodded, continued back. Progress, she thought, but for what? She should never have let herself fall in love with the house, with the area. She should never have allowed herself to become so involved with the man.”

The police chief’s casual observation about “progress” triggers Naomi’s interior doubt about establishing permanent connections, revealing the psychological walls she maintains. The house on the bluff symbolically represents Naomi’s attempt to build a stable identity, making her sudden regret about loving it particularly significant. The staccato rhythm of her thoughts creates a sense of panic as she instinctively reverts to her pattern of emotional withdrawal when feeling threatened, illustrating her lifelong struggle with vulnerability.

“It’s insulting and annoying—remember that—for you to think I’d feel differently about you because your father’s Thomas David Bowes. That I’d act differently because seventeen years ago you saved a life—no doubt saved a lot of lives. And if this whole fucked-up bullshit is the reason you’re trying to kick me to the curb, you’re out of luck. I don’t kick that easy.”

Xander’s direct confrontation forcefully challenges Naomi’s core belief that her father’s identity determines how others perceive her. His reference to her heroic action of saving a life reframes her identity in terms of her own choices rather than her genetic inheritance. The deliberate echo of Naomi’s earlier words (“insulting” and “annoying”) demonstrates his attentiveness while establishing verbal symmetry that reinforces their connection despite her attempts to sever it.

“So this was what it was, this was how it fit. How his half fit anyway, he thought. It fit, all those moving parts, because he was in love with her. […] For an instant he wondered how people lived this way, how they could carry so much for someone else inside them.”

The repetition of “fit” captures Xander’s epiphany, emphasizing how his feelings have finally aligned into something recognizable. Roberts employs the metaphor of “moving parts” to illustrate how complex emotions can suddenly make sense when viewed through the lens of love. The reference to “carrying” another person within oneself establishes love as both a burden and a gift, connecting to the risk and necessity of vulnerability.

“Mason’s impression of Sunrise Cove jibed with Naomi’s. […] He liked the city, where anything and everything could and did happen. He needed a quick pace, one that kept up with his own. But then she preferred the quiet, prized her solitude. […] Work drove them both—hers in art and imagery, capturing moments and making them speak. His in behavior, in rules, in an endless quest to find out why. Compensations, he knew very well, for both of them, constantly on some level trying to weigh the scale against what they’d come from.”

This passage establishes the contrasting coping mechanisms that Mason and Naomi have developed in response to their shared trauma. Roberts uses parallel structure to highlight how both siblings have transformed their pain into purposeful work: Naomi through capturing and framing beauty and Mason through analyzing and containing evil. The reference to “compensations” reveals how their career choices serve as counterweights to their father’s legacy, illustrating the importance of redefining identity in the shadow of infamy.

“He cruised the road just far enough to bring the house on the bluff, its spreading silhouette against a starstruck sky, into view. Sleep well, Naomi, he thought. Rest up. I’ll be seeing you soon, and we’re going to have some fun.”

The killer’s internal monologue employs dramatic irony, revealing his fixation on Naomi while she remains unaware of the specific threat. Roberts juxtaposes the serene imagery of the “starstruck sky” with the menace of the killer’s thoughts to heighten tension and foreshadow danger. The house on the bluff appears as both a symbol of Naomi’s newfound stability and a target of the approaching threat, emphasizing how her attempt to establish roots is endangered by her past.

“‘He’s not following, he’s stalking.’ […] ‘You’ll handle it because you have to. She’ll handle it,’ he said to Mason without taking his eyes off Naomi. […] ‘You’re trying to ease her into it because you’re worried she’ll break. But that’s not the way for you, is it, Naomi?’ His gaze met hers, held her. ‘You’re not going to break.’ ‘I’m not going to break.’ But a part of her was trying desperately to shore up the cracks.”

The revelation of the stalker’s obsession unfolds through terse dialogue that builds in intensity through the repetition of “break.” The metaphor of “shoring up cracks” reveals Naomi’s internal struggle between vulnerability and strength, connecting to the motif of light and shadow. Xander’s insistence on Naomi’s resilience demonstrates his understanding of her character, challenging the victim narrative that she fears being trapped in once again.

“‘Because I’ve got feelings for you. I’m in fucking love with you, so you’re going to stick. And that’s it.’ […] ‘Sunlight in your hair. Morning light. You’re standing there, working on a piece of plywood, sunlight all over you, and I feel like someone kicked me off a damn cliff. So you’re not going anywhere, just check that off the list.’”

Xander’s declaration employs blunt language and imperative statements that reflect his straightforward character while contrasting with the poetic image of “[s]unlight in your hair.” The cliff metaphor captures the vertigo of falling in love, particularly for someone who has deliberately avoided deep attachments. This moment directly confronts the theme of the risk and necessity of vulnerability, as Xander’s declaration reflects his character arc and challenges Naomi’s belief that her traumatic past makes her unworthy of love and connection.

“I don’t know why, but if I believe it’s been ten years, it makes it less intimate. This isn’t about something I did, something I didn’t do—Xander was right. I’m the excuse. God, I asked myself so many times in the first couple of years after that night in the woods what I’d done or didn’t do to make my father hurt all those girls.”

This pivotal moment marks Naomi’s shift from self-blame to recognition that she has been used as a justification for violence rather than being its cause. The parallel phrasing of “something I did, something I didn’t do” echoes her ongoing struggle with guilt and responsibility related to her father’s crimes. Naomi begins to separate her identity from both her father’s legacy and this new threat, representing progress in her journey toward redefining identity in the shadow of infamy.

“She let out a sigh. It surprised her as it wasn’t sad, frustrated, poignant. It was content. ‘Xander.’ She went to him, reached down to take his face in her hands, kissed him. ‘You washed the dog. You bought a grill—one that looks like it needs its own zip code.’”

Xander’s practical acts of service symbolize his commitment to creating a permanent home with Naomi, contrasting with her previously transient lifestyle. The description of her sigh as “content” creates a significant emotional turning point as she shifts her understanding of attachment from something negative to something positive. The oversized grill serves as a physical manifestation of Xander’s substantial presence in her life, connecting to the symbol of the house on the bluff as a place where Naomi is finally putting down roots.

“I dream of that cellar more than anything else. I can even smell it in the dreams. I never get out of it, in the dreams. He always comes back before I can get away, get away from him […] Before all of this, before that night, I used to dream of finding a puppy and being able to keep it, or riding the brand-new shiny bike I wanted so bad. I’ll never go back to that, that simple, that innocent, but I won’t live afraid.”

The root cellar appears as both a physical space from Naomi’s past and a psychological prison that continues to trap her in dreams, with sensory details like smell emphasizing its vivid persistence. The juxtaposition of innocent childhood dreams with the nightmare of the cellar emphasizes how trauma has fundamentally altered her worldview. Naomi’s declaration that she “won’t live afraid” represents a crucial turning point in her character development, as she chooses to define herself by her escape rather than her captivity.

“‘You told me when, and I’m telling you. […] Stolen lilacs in an old blue vase. […] It was a very big deal, the biggest of my life, because that’s when. That’s when, Xander, I knew I was in love with you. I didn’t know what to do about it,’ she said as—oh, he was paying attention now—his gaze snapped to hers, hot blue and intense. ‘I’ve never felt what I feel for you before, never believed I could feel it, so I didn’t know what to do about it. I have a better idea now.’”

This confession represents the culmination of Naomi’s journey toward emotional vulnerability, marking her ability to not only receive love but also openly express it. The narrative insertion of Xander’s reaction creates a moment of emotional intensity that captures the significance of this breakthrough, while Naomi’s repetition of “that’s when” highlights the importance of the moment in question; when Xander brought her flowers, she realized that she had a reason to commit to putting down roots in her new life. The lilacs function as a symbol of growth and commitment, which Naomi didn’t realize she needed until Xander’s act of unexpected beauty.